


mouthfuls of white tulips

by ackerlag, miltoran



Series: Save Me [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji-centric, Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love, onesided!bokuaka, onesided!bokuakakuroo, onesided!kurooaka, whats fluff and happiness anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:13:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackerlag/pseuds/ackerlag, https://archiveofourown.org/users/miltoran/pseuds/miltoran
Summary: the language of flowers never even crossed akaashi’s mind before.but ever since everything that had happened, it felt like his mother tongue that he would use every time he got home, locked the doors.





	

**Author's Note:**

> still kinda figuring out how to use this site aka first fic posted here

_“do you love him?”_

-

for the longest time, akaashi thought he had successfully ignored his heart that was yearning for human love, that screamed for it everyday, and pretended he didn’t care.

in hope to never catch those rumors of disease unable to be healed, of a rare sickness that blossomed out of an unrequited love.

he was wrong. like he ever was.

since the first time golden eyes met slate green ones, akaashi had always been trapped. in more ways than one: bokuto koutarou was brand new, refreshing; a blow of fresh air storming into akaashi’s life like everything wrong and not meant to be, pieces of puzzles not designed to unite yet fitting in anyways. bokuto koutarou was something he never knew he needed in his life; the sheer warmth he exuded, child-like enthusiasm and almost-innocence, tides of emotions spiraling in powerfully. truly a menace it was: for the one who had always ignored sentiments, the one who had claimed his body had no room for a thumping heart, the one who lied to himself; for that person to finally find the apple of his eye, someone who shone like sirius of the northern skies.

many people would think that bokuto was strange, that he was too energetic for them, that he didnt act like his age. uncontrollable, they’d say. wild, they’d say. immature, even. people respected his abilities in volleyball, but there had always been all kinds of unkind whispers circulating behind his back. akaashi knew, and yet he admired bokuto anyway. because it was the man’s smile that caught him breathless, his energy that kept him going, and his attitude that made him feel home. akaashi admired bokuto, but he didn’t know he wasn’t the only one who did.

it was the first year of high school that he encountered kuroo tetsurou. the man who taught him that no one is imperturbable from envy.

there was a boy. older than akaashi was, stronger than him and held what seemed like a permanent cheeky grin on his face. he was from nekoma, the long time friend and enemy of his school. a captain, who held a peculiar charm that made people look up to him, worship the grounds he stepped on.

akaashi hated him. akaashi was jealous of him. he was jealous how easy kuroo blended in the crowd as if he was born to, swept people off their feet within just simple flickers of eyelids and tilted head, how many tricks he had up in sleeve when they were against each other on the courts, even surpassing those who had previously led the two rivaling teams.

akaashi hated him, even more because of the way his gaze pierced right into him, reading and knowing. the way kuroo’s voice resounded through the air, his smile, and the way his expression lit up when he talked about things and people he held close to heart. akaashi hated the way kuroo laughed so heartily, so satisfyingly, like he had never been happier and more content and more alive.

he tried to not feel this way, but yet it haunted him everyday.

that was how he learnt burning hot jealousy. the kind that was easily set aflame by a few friendly gestures, the kind that licked up his insides and killed him a little more than ‘just’ when bokuto and kuroo exchanged an inside joke, heads thrown back in delighted laughter and completely unknowing of the figure watching in the sidelines. the kind of envy where he wanted to be a part of that, instead of wanting one to himself. but of course, stars don’t notice their shadows and akaashi keiji had always been someone behind the curtains.

yet if someone asked, so kindly and caringly perhaps; akaashi would say that no, both of them were just his friends.

lies, he was drowning in lies.

-

the memory of how it all began would always be vivid inside his mind.

he was panting in front of the gym. the door was slided open already – but of course, the ravenette was only two or so minutes late and was about to step inside when the sight of two familiar figures, alone in their vicinity, came into his line of vision. two very familiar figures, limbs wrapped up against each other like they were too absorbed in their own worlds and too afraid to let go. yet it was clear as crystal in akaashi’s eyes: how the touches were delicate and intimate for him to pry in, too exclusive, too loving for an exchange between friends.

his chest constricted in a way he had accustomed to for the past few weeks, but the setter told himself off: bokuto and kuroo were just friends. even if they were not, that was none of akaashi’s business. akaashi was just their friend, after all.

friend, yeah. that’s right.

then the feeling morphed into something else, like a ticklish sensation resting on his throat and something threatening to go out of there. like his lungs were clogged up and filled with something not just an air of

and when akaashi opened his eyes, there was a small yellow petal resting on his palms.

later that night, he found out yellow carnations stood for ‘denial.’ and it scared him a little more than it should.

-

it scared him.

yet it boiled his blood to the point of no return, wrath consuming his whole being. he tried to go on daily life as normally as he could, tried chatting up the others as if nothing happened, tried. akaashi tried. but everybody simply noticed the changes in akaashi, yet no one dared let out even a squeak. everyone was silent.

the next time it happened; akaashi was taking a jog around the neighborhood, trying to clear his outraged mind and soul, trying to cool down and regress back to the calm and collected akaashi that hs family loved, his friends knew. the calm and collected akaashi that he himself recognized.

but fate followed him like plague.

it was imprinted in his mind: kuroo and bokuto, kissing from the looks of it. surrounded by the park’s greenies, the people minding their own businesses and not giving a damn. yet here akaashi was, bothered and hot with rage: thank you for reminding him of something he could not have, thank you for reminding him of the very beauty he could not take part in, thank you for reminding him that this was not his and this was theirs, thank you, thank fucking you.

yet here akaashi was, coughing and coughing and heaving and wheezing and coughing some more; everything that led up to petunia petals decorating his hands.

‘what was that, what was that, what was that, what was that, what was that. what is this, what is this, what is this, what is this, what is this. what will happen to me?’

-

the language of flowers never even crossed akaashi’s mind before.

but ever since everything that had happened, it felt like his mother tongue that he would use every time he got home, locked the doors.

but he was still wary, still hoping that all of these were just delusions. a phase. no, not even a phase. he was still uphigh in the clouds of delusions that all of these were unreal. he wasn’t actually coughing up flowers, for god’s sake, and more importantly, he wasn’t in love with his two friends who were very much in love with each other.

god, if the thought not sting.

‘no, it doesn’t. everything is okay,’ he told himself everyday in front of his mirror, trying to ignore the pile of petals that now sat on his oakwood nightstand. bright colors that meant so dark, miniscule-sized yet strong forces he couldn’t bring himself to turn blind to. ‘everything is fine, nothing is wrong, that was probably some sort of nightmare that i imagined,’ he told himself everyday while chatting with his teammates and bokuto.

‘i am okay,’ he told himself everyday while his thumb hovering over  the send button, a drafted message to kuroo.

akaashi keiji was a fucking coward.

he feared how fast this feelings bloomed inside his chest, he was afraid how much he yearned for it, for human love, human touch, for human warmth. he was angry to himself to let those feelings control him, to mess with his head, to be made who he was right now.

he was afraid. he was afraid of loving, and he was more afraid of being rejected.

he pressed send.

“date me instead, kuroo-san.” the message said.

kuroo didn’t reply until the next day, a hastily thrown “sorry i fell asleep” contrasting against the blaring _read on 11:39pm_ text.

akaashi spent the previous night and the next feeling suffocated and clawing on his neck, trying to get whatever it was out of his system. he was rewarded by pink roses spread on his sheets, telling him to believe. believe what exactly, he didn’t know. maybe his misery and his end, that’s what.

-

“akaaaaaaaaashiiiiiii!!!”

the loud call bounced off the hallways, always so distracting and so demanding for attention. it put a smile on the setter’s face. bokuto never failed to cheer him up.

said bubbly ace practically skipped his way to the younger, a permanent wide and pleased smile resting on his face. akaashi briefly wondered what had him so happy, had he promised spiking practice until late night without remembering? he didn’t recall that though. or did the older found out some ‘really amazing’ facts about owls? that didn’t seem to be a possible reason too for this kind of euphoria explosion radiating out of the ace.

“akaashi!! guess what!”

oh, that meant he actually had to guess. he immediately blurted out the reasons he thought of earlier, meeting shaking heads everytime he said even a word. now, that was threw him into confusion and curiosity.

“then what is it?”

“yesterday!” the older begun with an even-broadening smile, “kuroo and i! we got together!”

akaashi felt like his heart dropped to the ground.

“i see,” he croaked out, “congratulations, bokuto-san,” and smiled.

his face muscles hurt, forcing up the edges of his lips with such amount of faked happiness for the two. it felt a lot like being ripped away, piece by piece; his heart. a little like sinking, drowning and falling and falling and falling deeper into sorrow and woe and all things mournful.

even then, bokuto looked like he was soaring up high.

he excused himself to the bathroom. this time, the moment he was closed off the public’s prying eyes and started to heave and cough again, he wasn’t surprised to see handfuls of fiery bright marigolds. he knew what this feeling was.

unmistakably. the way his eyes brim with tears and the way they strolled down his cheeks. the way it hurt so much to just breath. the way the words kept repeating and echoing themselves in his head. the way his shoulders shook, the way he clenched his fists and bit into them to stifle the bawls and loud sobs forcing their ways out of his quivering lips. unmistakably; this was what people named sadness.

akaashi keiji was in love. akaashi keiji was still a fucking coward.

-

he didn’t know if he was afraid of dying or being heartbroken. perhaps, it was both.

the coughing started becoming more and more violent, so much that his body constantly trembled in attempts to keep it in. by this point, polychromatic pieces of flowers had scattered all over his room. the yellows of the carnations, the marigolds; the pink of the roses and petunias. he had never been more fascinated in his whole life: flowers, such beautiful things that would bring him to his end.

he knew, akaashi knew.

that day konoha texted him that the fukurodani’s and nekoma’s volleyball club members finally found out about bokuto and kuroo being in a relationship. everyone was so delighted, he said. of course they were, akaashi thought. and the upperclassman also mentioned that they would be throwing a party for the two, a little celebration between their circle of friends now that they finally got together.

akaashi could only apologize for not feeling well and being unable to come.

once a coward, forever a coward and akaashi was afraid. he was afraid of loving. he was afraid of how kuroo would react, of how bokuto would if they knew his feelings. they love each other, who was he to interupt them? this feeling on his chest wasn’t supposed to be here, it was wrong, it was very wrong. his love was a lie, was something that he created because of of weak he was. he couldn’t let them know, he wouldn’t let them know.

thirty minutes later, an attached picture came.

bokuto and kuroo, of course, the two protagonists of the night. they were sitting side by side in the table, next to them konoha and kenma respectively. everyone was frozen in time; caught amidst sprouting cackles, snickers, laughters. but bokuto and kuroo were just there. there: staring eye-to-eye with so much affection and fondness painted in pairs of golden orbs that it was so evident even when akaashi was not seeing it firsthand. their arms were both down low, probably holding hands with intertwined fingers squeezing themselves. the sheer happiness that they displayed was so radiant.

so bright.

they were the sirius of his night sky, akaashi knew. akaashi had come to terms that he loved bokuto koutarou and kuroo tetsurou the same; yet was unable to have both or either or anyone. he was alone, so close to the death’s welcoming hands and alone all the same.

when the cries tore out of his lips this time, he didn’t fight it. when the tears streamed like they couldn’t ever stop, he didn’t fight it. when he felt like his heart was stomped upon and ripped to shreds and would never be pieced together again, he didn’t fight it. and when the flowers clawed their way out his lungs and onto his throat, akaashi didn’t fight it. he laid on his bed, heaving and coughing and this time nothing was saturated and dipped in colors.

flower petals filled his vision, blurred by tears formed on his eyes as he sobbed and breathed in even though it hurt him.

he knew death was pretty, he just never realize how mesmerizing it was.

everything was mournful mouthfuls and more of white tulips.

because the universe only knew how to ask for forgiveness this way.

-

_“yes. yes, i do love him and i’m sorry.”_

-

bokuto koutarou wasn’t stupid. he was certainly not blind, either.

they fought. it wasn’t pretty. there were yells, punches thrown, cries and slaps, regrets and anger and every other hideous emotions coming out.

but finally they were here and bokuto was just glad they had gone through that and settled it for real. it was okay if kuroo loved bokuto and loved akaashi just as much, it was okay as long as kuroo admitted to it and talked to bokuto about it. it was okay if kuroo wanted akaashi as his boyfriend, bokuto didn’t mind because he saw just how much adoration the slate green orbs held for the blackhaired captain. kuroo did not need to be sorry for loving, especially for loving bokuto’s best friend; kuroo did not need to be sorry for being polyamorous, for having a heart big enough to love and care for more than one. kuroo did not have anything to apologize for.

bokuto was glad, happy.

then the call came.

akaashi keiji’s funeral, they said.

the days came like a flurry: bokuto had just lost his best friend, kuroo had just lost the person he loved and akaashi keiji was gone. akaashi keiji was dead and soon, six feet underneath.

his fingers gently placed a bouquet of white lilies in front of the tomb, still unable to process the _rest in peace, akaashi keiji_ written so unsympathetically there. he would have liked the flowers, bokuto thought bitterly. akaashi had always been the classic and simple type. and there bokuto kneeled, bawling his eyes out.

when he stepped back, kuroo came forward. instead of the standard flowers, he had strands of jonquils in hand. his arms shook as they tried to gingerly put it next to bokuto’s white lilies.

“hey, akaashi,” kuroo whispered to the cold gravestone, the usual air of ease and charm he normally put on vanished and leaving no traces, “did you know?”

“did you know that i love you too?”

bokuto felt like he was watching something he shouldn’t be seeing.

**Author's Note:**

> jonquil here stands for 'please come back to me, my love.'
> 
> all flowers used and their meanings respectively taken from [this site](http://www.rirs.org/languageofflowers.htm) and/or [this site](http://www.theflowerexpert.com/content/aboutflowers/flower-meanings).
> 
> shoutout to [miltoran](http://archiveofourown.org/users/miltoran/works) for helping me write the story of course and also to a certain satan that told me to hurt these precious characters. now give me the crown of satan you said earlier
> 
> this is like.... the longest thing i've written since 2013, im weak and forgive me for the still not satisfying writing that i somehow am posting here without revising again one last time because its cold and i just want to sneak undercovers asap


End file.
